Itsuki's mind reeled as he realized what had happened—he was… gone. His body, or what he once called his body, no longer existed.
Instead, he found himself in a translucent form, a shapeless essence drifting through the void, still carrying the vivid memory of how he had ended his life.
Something—something vast and incomprehensible—was pulling him through the middle of the Milky Way. No matter how he struggled, he could not resist the force dragging him across the stars.
"I'm dead… but what am I doing here?" he thought, awe and disbelief warring in his mind.
"This is the galaxy, isn't it? Whoa… I didn't know dead people got a free ride through outer space!"
He looked around, searching for others like him. "Are there others… dead like me? But where are they? Why can't I see anyone?"
As he drifted, his shapeless form hovered helplessly through the cosmos. A solar system ahead caught his attention, only to witness its star violently collapse into a supernova, followed by the entire system being devoured by an enormous black hole. The beauty and horror of it struck him simultaneously.
"This… this is incredible and cruel all at once. So this is how the universe works… and there's nothing I can do about it."
Before he could comprehend more, a sudden pull—opposite the black hole—snatched him, luminous and blinding. A wormhole, perhaps, tearing open space itself. He was dragged at unimaginable speed, hurtling past stars and nebulae, faster than light, until the void gave way to something new.
He arrived in another universe, another solar system—a sun hung gently in a sky familiar yet alien, and below it, a world that could have been his Earth.
Gradually, his shapeless form descended. The land beneath him was a paradise that seemed eternal, a world perpetually bathed in summer. A mild breeze brushed against his transparent skin. Flowers bloomed in every direction, their fragrance drifting like soft music across the air.
He sank to his knees instinctively, remembering the sin he had committed.
"Wait… I just violated one of the Ten Commandments: Thou shalt not kill.
Yet here I was, alive in this serene world." A flicker of humility washed over him.
"Maybe… I should just be grateful I'm still here. God… forgive me." Though no one was around, he prayed aloud, voice trembling, asking for forgiveness and thanking God for delivering him to this haven. Despite the weight of his sins, the mistakes, the wasted life—he felt the faint warmth of grace.
As he rose from his knees, dizziness struck suddenly, twisting his perception. The world around him warped, shadows swallowing him as if the darkness of a singularity enveloped his consciousness.
When his vision cleared, a strange, tender warmth filled him. His body was no longer transparent. He looked down, startled. Tiny hands, soft skin, and the faint heartbeat of a newborn. He was… alive again, but in a new form.
Itsuki's mind swirled with confusion, awe, and fear as he realized: he had been given another chance.
Itsuki had been reincarnated into another world—Aetheria—on a solemn night, the 87th day of late summer. He awoke as the first son of Meliorra Springfield, a skilled scriptor, and the youngest child of Jared Granger, a noble adventurer infamous for his many mistresses.
"What… what is this? I'm a child now? I'm… isekai'ed? And this woman—she's my mother?" His thoughts ran in the voice of a teenager, echoing in his newborn body as he stared at the woman cradling him, wrapped tightly in a soft, white cloth.
She was stunning, perhaps in her mid-thirties, with dark hair that framed her fair-skinned face. Her serene eyes shimmered with tears of joy as they traced the contours of his tiny form. She pressed him gently against her chest, the silky fabric warm and fragrant, and whispered words only the heart could understand.
Itsuki reborn—in an infant's helpless body. His body could not respond, could not communicate. Every instinct he had was trapped in the helplessness of infancy.
Then, suddenly, a grimoire materialized in the air, floating about thirty-five centimeters away. Its cover glimmered faintly, symbols etched across it in a language that stirred something deep within him.
"Wait… a book? A magical book? A grimoire? Damn it! I don't understand any of this!" he thought, frustration and confusion surging through him. Helplessness gave way to tears, his infant cries piercing the quiet Birthingward. And just as suddenly as it appeared, the grimoire vanished.
The high-pitched cry of a newborn echoed through the Birthingward, blending with the gentle hum of the room.
"He's so beautiful. His name is Danir." Meliorra said softly to the comadrona, the midwife who had guided him into the world, her words infused with awe and tenderness.
Though his body was new, Itsuki—who is now—Danir, his memories remained intact—his mind still remembered his painful past.
"I was a failure in my former life. But this time… this time, I will choose my own path. I will live for myself, not for anyone else. I will grow stronger, and I will not end up pathetic again. I promise… I will make my life better." He thought, as determination igniting in his infant body.
Danir was raised by his mother and his mother's younger brother, Mychal Springfield, soon he will call as his uncle tamer. Together, they lived in Eastgate Town, a peaceful countryside settlement in the eastern part of the eastern continent, itself a part of Blossomdale, the capital kingdom of that continent.
Meliorra taught children to read, write, and count by her Scriptor jobclass, guiding them patiently through knowledge. His uncle Mychal, once an elite tamer adventurer, had retired from the road, and lived as a farmer managing their farm.
Years passed, and Danir had grown into a lively five-year-old. He carried the refined features of his mother—dark hair that fell in a neat, classic isekai protagonist style, framing eyes that mirrored her calm, intelligent gaze. His skin was fair, his expression thoughtful even in moments of play. His body was small and slightly lean, not particularly muscular, but nimble and quick, a canvas yet to be shaped by the trials and adventures that awaited him.
Danir had now begun attending a school known in this world as the Scripthouse, where his mother worked. Each day, she guided him through the fundamentals of reading, writing, and arithmetic alongside other children his age—the essential skills for life in this world.
Sitting at his small desk one afternoon, a thought struck him. "Now that I can read… maybe it's time to try opening my grimoire." He focused, raising his tiny hands as if grasping at invisible forces. "STATUS… OPEN!" he shouted in his internal teenager voice, brimming with the overconfidence of someone who'd played too many MMOs in his past life.
Nothing happened.
"Damn it! this isn't like any MMO I've ever played." he muttered in frustration, cheeks puffing as he tried again and again. The grimoire remained stubbornly absent, a silent reminder that Aetheria didn't bend to past-world logic.
Even in failure, though, a small spark of excitement flickered in his mind. "Well, alright… first try failed. But I'll figure it out soon. I will not gonna give this up."
Out of growing curiosity—and a little frustration—Danir turned to his mother. "Mother… do you have a magical book, a grimoire—or something, that appeared when you were born?" Danir asked, thinking it impossible that something like a magical grimoire could exist in a world like this.
"Yes, my son." Meliorra replied with a gentle smile. "The grimoire is a blessing bestowed by the Mother-Goddess to all people of Aetheria during the Dark Age. It exists to help us survive… and to give us strength to fight against the Demon Lord's terror."
Danir blinked, trying to wrap his head around it. "Oh… so everyone in this world is born to be an adventurer?"
Meliorra shook her head. "No, son. It's up to each person to choose their path. The grimoire allows you to select what you wish to become. Every role is important and carries its own responsibilities. For me, as a Scriptor, I don't level up combat attributes like speed, strength, or endurance, because those aren't needed for my work. Instead, I am limited to grow my intelligence attributes leveling up my status by reading, writing, calculation. The grimoire enhances whatever you need to fulfill your role more effectively." She explained.
Danir's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "So… how do I open my grimoire, Mother?"
"Simple!" she said. "Just say… GRIMOIRE OPEN."
"And there's something else." she added, her eyes twinkling as she raised her own grimoire for him to see. "Only you can see your own grimoire. But if you ever wish to show it to someone else, you just have to say GRIMOIRE REVEAL. But I recommend you to don't do it infront of the enemy or any untrustworthy people."
Danir leaned closer, staring at the glowing book. Its borders shimmered pink, the text inside flowing in elegant, cursive Aetherian texts. So this is what Mother sees all the time…
"Mother… your intelligence has reached over a thousand, that's amazing?" he said, astonished. "So that's what being a Scriptor is all about?"
Unable to contain his excitement, Danir dashed to his bedroom. His tiny hands trembled as he raised them and shouted, "GRIMOIRE OPEN!"
A soft light appeared, illuminating the air before him. Since he had not yet chosen a class, the border of his grimoire glowed a gentle white—a blank canvas, waiting for him to decide his future.
(Jobclass will open after reaching age seven)
"Ugh… what a hassle!" Danir muttered, frowning at the thought. "Still two years to wait… and all my stats are still zero." A twinge of disappointment settled in his chest, but he pushed it aside. Patience, he reminded himself, was part of the game.
Another year passed in what felt like mere hours to him, and soon Danir celebrated his sixth birthday. The celebration was simple but warm, held in their middle-class home—a cozy wooden cabin tucked into the quiet countryside. Just a few meters away, their barn housed his uncle Mychal, who had long since retired from adventuring.
As they ate dinner, Danir hesitated before asking the question that had been on his mind for years. "Mother… I was just wondering… where has my father been all this time?"
Mychal, sensing the tension, cleared his throat awkwardly. "Big sister… I should get back to the barn. Still have chores to do. See yah." With that, he hurried away, leaving mother and son alone at the table.
Danir's mother sighed softly, her gaze distant yet tender. "Danir… my son, I knew the day would come when you'd ask me this. I suppose the time has finally come to tell you the truth."
She told him of a love that had once consumed her heart. Six years ago, she had fallen in love with an extraordinary adventurer named Jared Granger. She had known, deep down, that she might become just one of his many mistresses—but love, she admitted, made her pursue him regardless.
Jared Granger was no ordinary man. One of the strongest adventurers of the eastern continent, he had fought alongside the heroes against the Demon Lord, earning renown and respect across the land. Known as the Black-Horseman, he had taken the Paladin class and vanquished countless demon warlords, becoming a living legend.
Yet for all his battlefield ruthlessness, Jared was also a gentleman—a man of honor, courage, and unwavering dedication. He fought not for fame or wealth, but for a safer world, a place where people could live free from terror.
Danir listened, wide-eyed, absorbing every detail. Though he had been reborn into this world, fragments of admiration—and perhaps envy—stirred within him. This was the man who had captured his mother's heart, and indirectly, the bloodline that now carried him forward.
"So… my father was really a strong adventurer?" Danir asked, eyes wide with both awe and longing.
"Mother… I want to be like him." he continued, voice firm despite his small stature. "I want to become one of the strongest adventurers someday, just like Father."
Meliorra shook her head gently, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "No, my son. I don't want you to end up like him—a womanizer who risks everything for glory. I want you to have a safe path. You… you will become the smartest scriptor someday, just like me."
Danir's hands clenched into tiny fists. "No, Mother! I want to choose my own path. I don't want to be end up being pathetic ag..a..i..n…(struggling to speak as he remembered his painful past) I don't want to become a weak deadweight waiting for help!"
He slammed the wooden door behind him and stormed into the fields, frustration fueling each step. The tall corn stalks whispered around him, hiding him from sight as he sought solitude.
Sitting on a lone rock, he hugged his knees, his small frame trembling with determination.
"I won't be my former self again." he whispered to the wind, his voice a mixture of fear and fierce resolve. "This time… I will live my life the way I choose. I will become the strongest. I will not screw this life again—no matter what it takes."